Welcome to M sur M
by the parasols
Summary: Stupid criminals, godly mayors, desperate old maids - and one confused Inspector who can't make sense of it all. (could get slashy, if it gets continued at all)
1. Prologus

**Author's Note** – it's not much right now, but will be much added upon and expanded later. This story is not going to be entirely about Javert, I hope to make Valjean and Fantine major characters as well. My first Les Miserables fic, so constructive criticism greatly appreciated.

**Prologue.**

Javert arrived in Montreuil-sur-Mer on October the 23rd. This was significant for several reasons, the first being that Montreuil-sur-Mer was about to gain a Chief Inspector who might actually do something, the second being that it was said Chief Inspector Javert's birthday. Of course, he was not aware of that, never having actually been told when his birthday was. According to his records, his birthday was February 4th, the day that he escaped from the orphanage. (To be fair, one may say that this was the day his life began, seeing as how there was nothing even resembling life before it.) He had estimated himself to be about fifteen then, which would put his year of birth at 1780. This number was incorrect, though, which explains why Javert looked approximately 21 and a half months younger than he said he was.

But none of that is important, really, unless the reader is making a timeline of Javert's life, to which I dearly hope they are not, because even though he life may have been somewhat interesting to literature analysts and Philip Quast fans … well… it wasn't _that_ interesting.

In fact, the most interesting thing about his life was the lack of interesting things. In Paris, he spent every waking moment either patrolling around the city or sitting in his office, writing and signing paper after goddamned paper, on a high either from sleep deprivation or intense amounts of caffeine to make up for said sleep deprivation. When he did sleep, it was involuntary, and made no-one happy because it often resulted in a large puddle of drool on whatever he had been working on.

He was hardly ever at his flat, which either pleased or greatly upset whomever he was currently living with (it depended on if they'd… well… let's not get into that.)

Javert had been transferred to M.-sur-M. because… alright, he wasn't entirely sure why he had been transferred. It certainly couldn't be considered a promotion, he mused, as he gazed around at the three or four buildings that made up the majority of the town. Perhaps Chabouillet had done it out of spite – or to get him away from Vidocq – but it didn't matter. When it came to the going-ons inside M. Chabouillet's head, he had found out long ago it was better to just be left in the dark.

Therefore, he arrived in Montreuil-sur-Mer not knowing why he was there and not knowing it was his birthday. He only knew what he was supposed to be doing, and even those instructions had been vague.

"Just do… something," Chabouillet had told him with a flick of his hand as he sent the man on his way. "Oh, and good luck."


	2. Lucien

**One.**

Sergeant Lucien Lafontaine was handsome. This was quite evident to everyone in the town of Montreuil-sur-Mer, except for M. Dupont, who, bless his soul, was not exactly young anymore and didn't have the eyes he once did. But even he remembered when Lucien was a babe – the round, devilishly innocent green eyes, the tuft of sandy-brown hair. Add to that one scathingly angelic smirk and two rows of even, white teeth and you would have the most sought after young man in the town.

Unfortunately, he was the dumbest, too.

It was until the ripe age of thirty-two, after he had gambled and drank away all of his parents' money, that he realized he was actually expected to _work_ to regain the family fortune. "How perfectly ridiculous!" he would say with a scoff to anyone who would listen (any female between the ages of fourteen and eighty-two.) "How absolutely trite and unnecessary!"

Fortunately he realized it _was_ necessary before he starved to death.

Luckily for him, however, even though good looks may not give you one bit of common sense, they will get you a job as a sergeant in the Montreuil-sur-Mer police force. Sure, the work was dull, the hours were long, and the pay was low – but Lucien, having never worked another job nor known anyone who worked another job, did not know better.

And so it was that Lucien found himself sitting on the steps of the Town Hall awaiting one Inspector Javert, with orders to escort him immediately back to the station.

Trite and unnecessary. If the man was smart enough to be the new Chief Inspector then he was smart enough to find his way to the station, if you asked him. But then again, no one ever did.

He was just beginning to ponder this fact when he noticed a pair of boots on the steps in front of him. Of course, wearing these boots was a person, but the thought hadn't even had time to register in Lucien's mind before a voice seeming very far above his head barked something.

"I said, are you Monsieur Barraud?" the voice came again, speaking not really to Lucien, but at him.

"No," he remarked dumbly, not taking his eyes off of the stranger's boots. They were dusty, dusty and scuffed up. He rearranged himself slightly so the man could not miss his boots. They were brand-new – he had lived on stale bread for a week and had flirted shamelessly to obtain them. A smiled crossed his face as he watched the fine polished leather glint in the sunlight. Oh yes, they were a fine pair of boots indeed, almost as fine as that Delphine girl he had met in the park yesterday, yes, she was quite a piece of -

"Boy, are you deaf?"

Ever-so-slowly, those green, green, green eyes were agonizingly raised. "Pardon me?"

"Oh, so _now_ you hear me." Though the man's face was in shadow, Lucien could see his eyes glint.

"Yes. I can." _My eyes can glint just as well, **sir.**_

"Good. Can you tell me where I can find Monsieur Barraud?"

"He'd be at the police station, sir."

"Well. Can you tell me where to find that, then?"

He could have told him, of course, but that would have been too easy, and there was something in the stranger's voice Lucien didn't like – a severity that had never been used in his presence before. Obviously the man didn't know who he was messing with.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say," Lucien said calmly.

"Oh really."

"You see, I'm a sergeant, monsieur," he went on, a sickly sweet smile fanning over his face. "And we really don't want strangers cavorting around our offices. It could be dangerous, you understand? Now if you'll please excuse me-"

"You're a sergeant, you said?" the man muttered with curiosity. "What's your name?"

Lucien felt himself bristle with pride. "Sergeant Lucien Lafontaine, sir. Have you heard of me? I've assisted in some very important cases around town-"

"I've never heard of you," the stranger said impatiently. "But perhaps you've heard of me. My name is Inspector Javert, I've been traveling here from Paris for four days, I officially start my duties as Chief Inspector of this provincial hell-hole on Monday, and if you could please escort me to the police station and Monsieur Barraud, I would be most grateful and significantly less likely to make my first order of business dismissing you. Do I make myself clear?"

"You're Inspector Javert?" Lucien breathed. His smile faltered. The air had suddenly become very thick.

"I am," he replied, his eyes glinting again.

It was then that Lucien realized that things were going be to be a lot different from now on.


End file.
